


Color: Tawny

by sammichgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 8x01 WNTTAK, Gen, Hurt!Sam, I have a lot of feels about how Sam came to hit Riot, Suicide Attempt, color inspo fic, pre-Season 8, related to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 10:57:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11462154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammichgirl/pseuds/sammichgirl
Summary: Sam taking comfort in Riot’s fur where the shades of white, black and brown meet, after he takes him "home" from the vet after hitting him.





	Color: Tawny

The sound would always haunt him.  A high pitched yelp of hurt as something thumped brought him back from his drifting thoughts to slam on the brakes and swerve off the road.  Truth be told, he didn’t mind swerving off the road so much.

The only thing that kicked him into action when he’d stopped, that gave him some spark of urgency, was hearing the low whining of the dog he’d hit after literally letting go of the wheel – Jesus be damned.  He then spent a harrowing hour or so in a vet’s waiting room, contemplating just what he’d done, the enormity of his actions. 

Taking care of himself was proving hard enough lately – witness the day’s earlier actions, and now he had a pet.  He didn’t even remember agreeing to take the dog with him, but as he drove – carefully this time – he glanced back through the rearview mirror every now and then.  A worn out pup was asleep on the backseat, resting on an old thick army blanket, recovering from a few injuries that thankfully weren’t fatal. 

Sneaking the dog into the derelict motel room he’d checked into not far down the road proved easy.  He didn’t think he’d ever need the services of such a place again, but here he is, unable to contain a small chuff of pained laughter looking at the gaudy décor.  Dean would have loved its extreme cheesiness.

Dean would also be pissed about the dog.  And about Baby’s small dent, scratches, and loss of tread on the now burnt rubber tires.  Most of all pissed that Sam almost – well.  Another thing Sam failed at, really.

The dog though, he needed some immediate care.  And probably some food.  Sam puttered in the small kitchenette and found a bowl for fresh water.  He’d run to the store for their dinners in a bit.  Right now he just wanted to sleep.  Self-care wasn’t high on his priority list but his head was pounding, and he couldn’t stop his thoughts from racing with the adrenaline rush still working through him.  His whole body felt oddly weighted and there was a dull roar in his ears, nothing seemed to make sense.  He could swear the room was spinning.

Sam tried to keep himself upright as he kicked off his shoes and undressed, fumbling with the small buttons as his hands shook.  He looked over to the bed, noticing the dog was already curled up against a pillow, dozing, looking up only when Sam sat down heavily, clad in just his boxers.

He blinked as his eyes moved in and out of focus.  Were things moving in slow motion?  Laying back to stretch out he couldn’t contain the tears that welled up, ready to spill over.  He was so lost.  Where did he even begin to try and find his way back?  What was he doing?  Breathing became harder, shallow breaths not enough to get oxygen to his blood, and panic set in.  His body prepared for fight-or-flight mode when suddenly he felt the softness of fur.  A tail was thumping against his ribs, and then a warm puff of air against his neck as the dog moved to curl around him, a paw on his arm, the dog’s head laying in the crook between his neck and shoulders. 

Hot salty tears streamed unbidden down his cheeks, and his breathing became more erratic as soft sobs finally broke free.  His thoughts were a riot in his head, all clamoring to be heard, fighting for prominence.  His heart was a constant aching pain in his chest, his body trying to shut down altogether from sensory overload.

There was more movement of fur against his neck and then he felt a wet nose.  One lick to his cheek, then two.  Sam closed his eyes before turning over on his side, an arm reaching around to pull the dog closer to him.  He let his fingers run through the tawny fur, where white, black and burnished brown markings met.  Outright crying now, he hugged the dog and let himself pour out his grief and sadness.  Months of sorrow and misery flowed from him, and the dog just laid his head against Sam’s.  There was no judgement, just canine compassion. 

After about an hour, Sam’s heartbeat had slowed, his breathing back to normal.  He felt drowsy, empty.  Unburdened.  He raised his head to look at the dog still curled into his chest and was met with a sweet yet solemn stare.  He dropped a grateful kiss to the dog’s head and stroked his velvety ears.

“Gonna name you Riot.  You took in all my turmoil and let me find some comfort in the chaos.”  He bit his lip, knowing this dog now in his life was no coincidence.  “I think you just saved my life.” 


End file.
